


Au Revoir

by liesmyth



Category: Original Work
Genre: Hand Jobs, Heist, M/M, Oral Sex, Quiet Sex, not knowing identity of partner until after sex, sex in a carriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 00:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth
Summary: Levon the outlaw was not the only one to sneak into the Ball on false pretences tonight.





	Au Revoir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nisiedraws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisiedraws/gifts).



Levon made his way carefully in the darkness, his heartbeat hammering in his throat with every step. It was summer, and the air was warm and too-humid even behind the tall walls of the Jade Mansion, where the best and richest of the duchy had convened to dine and drink in merriment and be seen in their best clothes, all the best to celebrate His Majesty’s birthday. The King himself would visit in a fortnight on the first leg of his royal tour, and all of the Hilltowns were abuzz with excitement and anticipation.

Levon, for his part, hoped to be on the other side of the kingdom by then. Perhaps even across the Straits, just to be sure.

The Wreath was a heavy weight against his chest, concealed under a few layers of clothing. It would be hell to fence, priceless as it was, but the thought of taking it apart felt oddly like blasphemy. Maybe he’d just keep it for himself, and leave treasure maps cleverly hidden among dusty bookshelves.

He stepped down a desert servants’ staircase, half-crouched, then counted carefully under his breath until he could hear the soft steps of the armsmen on patrol. Two more minutes after that and Levon emerged from the shadows, turning left on a brisk walk. The music from the distant party spilled through the halls and Levon hummed along with it, loud and just slightly off-key, the kind of happy party guest who, while not drunk, is well on his way to getting there. He whistled as he made his way back to the ballroom, grinning to himself when he caught sight of two women getting better acquainted in a convenient alcove. Lady Emeralde, if he wasn’t mistaken, and someone else’s wife. It would be a scandal if they were found out, first-rate gossip to last until the New Year at the very least. And the armsmen on this floor, well acquainted with the importance of discretion, wouldn’t look too closely at any of their mistress’s illustrious guests.

Levon walked out of the front door without haste, carrying the Kingdom’s greatest treasure hidden under his vest. The jasmines were in bloom, and the nighttime air on his face felt exhilarating. He laughed, loudly, and if anyone took notice they certainly did not care. He laughed some more, until he was all out of breath.

This was, emphatically, not Levon’s usual style. He liked flash and fun and he liked adventure, and there was none of that to be found in common thievery. In his illustrious career he’d intercepted carriages and collected ransoms and once, on a memorable occasion, slipped into a stable in the dead of night to hide inside a Marquis’s fancy coach, a surprise for the road. But he’d never before disguised himself and walked into a mansion from the front door to sit for dinner. He’d done pretty well keeping up his character, he thought, except for the bit with the soup spoon when the red-haired man sat next to him had looked at him thoughtfully and Levon had been sure he’d been made there and then. But the man had merely stared, green-eyed and solemn, and then he’d turned to talk to someone else and that had been it.

He walked slowly to the garden gates, gravel crackling under his shoes. He’d hired a small coach with a driver, for the appearance of respectability, and had the driver pick him up at a fancy inn that was not very far from where he was really staying. If he could only remember now where the driver had stopped to wait…

“You’re leaving early.”

The voice came from the shadows beyond the gatepost, past the liveried armsmen and the perfumed bushes of the garden. It was the man from dinner, with the red hair and a way of staring right into him. Shadows danced over his face with every flicker of the torchlights, but Levon saw that he was smiling.

“It’s not even midnight, you know,” said the stranger. “The fireworks are really something.”

Levon assessed the situation, swallowing over his frantic heartbeat. He had several weapons under his clothes and he was good with them, quick and fast, but fighting had a way of attracting attention and so did dead bodies, and he’d already left a calling card where the Wreath of Maran had been.

He kept his voice friendly. “A shame. But I have an early morning tomorrow, and I really should—”

“Leaving Lushap, aren’t you? So am I, as it happens. I’ve seen everything I’d come to see and, I suspect, you got everything you came for.”

Levon thought about slipping a knife from his sleeve into his sweaty palm. “I think, sir, that you have me confused with someone else.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve been conducting my own affairs, and heard that someone paid very good money for a map of the Mansion’s upper floors. From three different sellers. And you disappeared at dinner, by yourself.  And,” said the stranger. “You were looking very cheerful when you got back. If a bit heavier under your clothes.”

Instinctually, Levon cast a look around their surroundings. It was suicidal to remain here, in front of the mansion’s gates and just out of earshot of armed guards, talking about this. Other guests could come down the path any time. The Duchess’s armsmen could — but if the stranger had meant to call them, he probably would have already.

“Are you blackmailing me? Coins so you’ll forget about it?” And then he thought about it some more: how this man, not important enough to have come to Levon’s attention during the weeks of careful planning, had his own eyes and ears on the Mansion and had known enough to guess he’d act tonight. Had Levon walked straight into someone else’s plan?

 “You didn’t…” he whispered, “didn’t… _damage_  it, did you?” The Wreath itself was authentic, Levon would’ve bet his life on it, but he certainly hadn’t had enough time to assess all of the stones.

“I’m not a thief,” said the man, almost spitting the words out. His brows arched. “Not do I care for thieves. But it suits my plans to have Lady Lucine disgraced for losing what she was entrusted with. That is the only reason,” he said, “why I’ll wait one day before I send the guards after you.”

 _Oh_ , Levon thought. And then: _oh. Politics_. Someone’s agent, then, and the kind of plans Levon kept himself well clear of.

But _politics_  didn’t explain why the man had sought him out personally, or why he’d even warned him at all.

He slipped his dagger back into its sheath, and took a step forward.

“Could I persuade you to make that two days?”

“What?” The man seemed taken aback, and Levon grinned.

“Two days, and then you send your guards after me.” It was a beautiful night, and Levon felt drunk on the smell of jasmine and the thrill of a coup well executed. He let his smile grow wider. “I saw how you looked at me.”

A flicker went through the man’s face, surprise and perhaps some intrigue. And hesitation, but Levon could work with that.

“Look,” he said. “My coach is parked around here somewhere. I’ll even take you home. Or somewhere else, anyway.” And then, “Good enough?”

The man threw back his head and laughed. It was deep and low and charming, and Levon thought that he really, really would like it if the man might say yes.

“This is one of the poorest offers I have ever received,” he said. “Do you have a name?”

“Levon.” It wasn’t the name he used daily, or even the one he’d been born with, but it had been a perfectly good name for a good number of years and he was attached to it. “It’s on my calling card. I left it in the safe. What’s yours?”

“Alek,” the man said, and Levon didn’t believe him for a second.

He turned on his heels and began to walk, and was very pleased when he heard the sound of Alek’s footsteps following him. He led him down the road past two other imposing gates, to the small lay-by where he’d instructed his driver to wait. The coach was still there, and Levon gave the man one whole silver from his trouble, along with whispered instructions.

“Coming in?” he asked, and was pleased when Alek climbed in after him. The seats were large and unexpectedly comfortable, and the air smelled faintly of lavender.

“I’m not taking you to my inn,” Levon said, and then he leaned down and kissed him on the lips.

Alek sighed into the kiss, opened his warm lips under Levon’s mouth. “Good,” he said, a nonsensical agreement, and his hand climbed up to tug at Levon’s queue. It was a pleasant feeling, and Levon closed his eyes in the dark and leaned into it. Alek had stubble on his face, even redder than his hair, scraping gently against Levon’s lips and chin, and when Alek inclined his head just so to press a kiss to the side of Levon’s jaw the feeling of that beard scratching his sensitive neck was — _good_ , Levon thought, and he shivered.

Gentlemen’s clothing was needlessly complicated. That must be why they needed valets, Levon decided, tugging aimlessly at Alek’s vest, before losing track of that thought because it hardly mattered here and now. Other things mattered: Alek was so close in the dark, solid and compact and right here, and the hot flush of pleasure he could feel running through his own body. His breath was coming up short now, and every time he moved he was reminded of the weight of stolen gold and gemstone hidden under his clothes, a priceless fortune, a thrill that was almost as strong as the pleasure of the conquest in front of him.

Trousers, he decided. Trousers would be easier, even distracted as he was by the feeling of Alek’s mouth pressing kisses down his neck, his warm hand over Levon’s nape, keeping his head still so he could be kissed. His hands were clumsy, trembling along with the rest of him.

There was a rumbling laugh, resonating through him like a shiver. “Let me,” said Alek, and let go of his grip on Levon’s hair to turn them around so that Levon was the one pressed down against the seat, catching his breath. He was aware, distantly, that the carriage was moving under them, pushing him slightly against Alek’s body with every bump and pothole of the road. It wouldn’t be ideal, usually, but right now Alek was unlacing his trousers, his hand warm and large over his hard cock, and Levon could do nothing but exhale raggedly at the feeling of it. He groaned, bucking his hips into the man’s hand.

“Shush,” said Alek, “We don’t want the driver to hear,” he whispered, and Levon nodded — he was right, but it felt good and he couldn’t help it. He bit down on his lip.

Alek closed his fingers around his cock and Levon moaned, pushing up into his hand. Alek’s grip was light and his breath hot against Levon’s throat, his thumb pressing over the head of Levon’s cock in the best possible way. He groaned again, loud in his throat even with his mouth shut.

Alek kissed him. He missed his mouth, dark as it was, and their noses bumped gently, Alek’s wet lips landing on his chin. Then his other hand found Levon’s face, tracing his lips, keeping his head still, and when Alek kissed him again it was deep and hungry, as if he meant to swallow every single sound Levon could make. He put his hand on Levon’s shoulder and pressed him against the seat as his hand worked Levon’s cock and his mouth kissed a path down the side of Levon’s neck. This close, Levon could feel Alek’s cock pressed against his hip, and he wanted — he thought about closing his lips around him and flicking his tongue against the swollen head, and Alek would groan then, lose himself to it under Levon’s tongue. He’d grit his teeth and throw his head back and stifle his own fist in his mouth to stay quiet as Levon’s hands would press against his hips, the curve of his ass, keep him nice and still while he sucked his cock.

He came into Alek’s hand at the thought, shivering all over.

“I want to suck you off,” Levon whispered, half-dazed. “Let me.”

He shuffled to his knees on the floor and tugged at Alek’s trousers again, all those bloody fastenings. Alek obliged, pushing aside the cloth, and guided his cock past Levon’s open lips, hissing at the first press of Levon’s tongue along the shaft. Under Levon’s hand, the muscles of his thighs were trembling.

“Be quiet,” Levon pulled back to say, and felt Alek’s body shake with silent laughter.

And then his hand was light on Levon’s shoulder and, Levon found, Alek was even worse than himself at keeping quiet during sex.

The coach had come to a stop in an alley by the Moons Plaza by the time Levon sat back up on the seat and pulled his trousers up again. They’d left a bit of a mess, he thought guiltily, and resolved to leave the driver an extra tip. He could afford largesse, after tonight’s spectacular success.

He patted at his chest absent-mindedly, as if to reassure himself that the with the Wreath was still securely hidden under his clothes. He caught Alek’s eyes, watching him, and felt suddenly embarrassed.

“Two days,” he reminded him. “Before you send the guards after me, or whatever else you’re planning on doing.”

“Two days,” Alek agreed. “I don’t suppose you’d give me a hint and tell me where you’re going?”

Levon felt lazy, and warm, with that sort of boneless good humour that crept through him after sex. He grinned. “Do you want to see me again so soon?”

“I will.” The way he said it made Levon frown, so self-assured that he almost believed him. “When they catch you. I’m looking forward to it.”

And then he opened the door and climbed out, and Levon had the driver take the coach to the other side of town before he left as well, and two hours after that he was riding by himself to the nearest seaport, still carrying with him the Wreath of Maran, perhaps the most famous of the Saghali Crown Jewels. In the port city of Avarim he retrieved his emergency stash, thinking that he wouldn’t be back for a while: a small treasure of silvers and gems along with gold coins, the heavy crowns that Levon had seldom used before, because they attracted attention and were difficult to spend.

And there minted in gold was the face of King Aleksander, with his heavy crown and his short fetching beard that Levon knew was too ginger to be properly dignified, and surprisingly soft to the touch.

He stared at the coin for some time, and then he laughed to himself. And then he thought that, maybe, he should send the King another of his calling cards.


End file.
